Tarry Yet Awhile, Lover
by Dark Rabbit
Summary: Also posted to Archive of our Own. Renaissance AU: The marriage between Thor and Loki is unhappy, but necessary to protect the fragile alliance between their two countries. When Tony Stark, arrives on a visit to the court at Hlidskjalf, a connection forms between him and Loki. Neither wants it, but neither can break away.
1. No Sting as Sharp

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe**  
**Characters: Loki, Thor, Odin, Sif** **  
****Author's note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

It is late morning. If All-Father is displeased, at being brought from his council chambers, it does not show on his face. He has always been foolishly over-generous with this, his son and heir.

"See what she has done, Father?" Thor's voice is angry. The petulant tone of a child who has always gotten his way. In contrast, the woman beside him is silent. She does not look like she wants to be here. Thor hustles her forward, he gestures toward her head.

The Lady Sif's head shines golden, hair cut close, like that of a convict's. Knowing Sif, she might be happier like this. Since childhood, she has always been donning boys' clothes, to go adventuring with Thor and his friends. Perhaps she found her womanish blonde hair troublesome.

Thor's voice, still angry: "You know she did it, Father."

"I know nothing of the kind." Odin prevaricates, for, in truth, his son is right. Since her arrival at Hlidskjalf, Loki has unfortunately made her name, with secretive acts of petty mischief. Odin sighs. He looks at Sif. "Is there evidence that it was Loki?"

Thor opens his mouth to interrupt. His father raises a hand to stop him. He continues to look at the maiden. "Well?"

"None," she says.

"Is there ever?" Thor's words burst out. "Loki is devious. But I know her, I see the look, that is always in her eyes when she sees the Lady Sif."

It was jealousy, as it has been since Loki and Thor were married. Loki probably saw the look that comes into Thor's eyes when he sees the Lady Sif, and she was angered. This has happened with other women, too many times before.

Odin takes a breath. "May I remind you, son…" He stops. Thor is of an age to be king now. He should not have to be reminded of anything. But, this is his heir. In a few more years, he must leave the land he has governed, this many years, in his hands, the land he loves more than he loves his own life. "Thor, your wife has certain rights…" Stopping again, he gestures to Sif. "Go speak to my wife. She will help with your problem."

His beloved wife, Frigga: Daughter of the mystical realm of Vanaheim. Her magic is learned, not innate, as is Loki's. It is sufficient, however, to give Sif an illusion, at least, of the golden tresses she once wore, until they have grown back in truth.

Odin waits until the sound of a latch marks Sif's departure. Then, turning back to Thor, he speaks. "You must honor your marriage vows, son."

Thor is sulky now. He mutters into his chest, "This is no marriage."

"Speak up."

Raising his voice, "Laufey gave her to me to cement an alliance that is no alliance." Thor's voice grows louder, as he throws statement after statement at his father. "There are skirmishes every day on the border with Jotunheimr. Are you telling me Laufey knows nothing of them? And if Loki is my proper wife, she should bear me a child. Where is that child, Father? I must have an heir."

Loki is fertile. This, the Aesir know, by an unfortunate means. There was an incident right after she arrived at Hlidskjalf: A giant would have carried off the Lady Freya, to be his wife, had Loki not assumed the form of a mare, and lured his horse away to copulate. That there was issue from that match, proves she can bear children. That she was willing to do it, proves her loyalty to Asgard. Nonetheless, it was undignified; Odin has watched as his son's behavior to his wife changed, after it happened.

"Perhaps if you spent more time with her?" The mildest of reproaches, when Thor's dalliances grow more and more.

It is met, of course, with more anger. "Should I, Father?" Thor demands. "Why? This is a false marriage, cementing a false alliance. I would have done with lies."

It is a marriage that could cement an alliance that is fragile, but growing stronger by the day. Thor should know this. He too has access to the reports that show that Laufey punishes all Jotnar who dare make sorties across the border. After many years of war between the two realms, the King of the Jotnar is understandably suspicious, but his trust grows by the day. With care, this could become a lasting peace, a good gift for future generations, on both sides of the border.

Why can't he get these things across to his son? There is a fear, that is always at the back of Odin's mind: Thor is too young to remember what it was like, when Asgard and Jotunheim were at war. He never had to do battle in that freezing waste. Odin remembers the pain of frozen armor, against his body. Worse than that, he remembers Asgardian foot-soldiers, cut down by the foe, falling into puddles of mud, mixed with blood and ice, to die there. He hears again the screams of wounded horses, and the moans of dying men.

This is why peace is so important: No man should have to look forward to a fate like that. And yet this young hothead of a son speaks of war so casually.

Odin's fingers tighten on the armrest of his throne, knuckles whitening with tension. "You will return to your wife, Thor." His voice is soft.

"And if I won't?"

Cutting his son off, he continues. "Am I not your sovereign Lord? You will. And you will give her your honor, your attention, and your intimacy." Thor's stubborn face frustrates his father more and more. Now he is the one growing angry. "You say she gives you no heir? How can she, when you are constantly off, dallying, with other women? I say you will return to her, and you will treat her as your wife should be treated. Our alliance with Jotunheim may be fragile, but it is important. I worked too hard for it, to allow it to be thrown aside on the whim of a spoiled child."

* * *

All-Father's tantrum was but one of many. He has it in his head that Asgard and Jotunheim can be allies, as if man and giant can ever life side-by-side as friends. He has it in his head that Loki, the shapeshifter who is both son and daughter to the King of Jotunheim, can settle down to be the wife of a mere man.

Thor climbs the stairs alone. It is his father's order, and he must obey it. He must reconcile with his estranged wife.

Above the ground floor, the music starts. A complex tune, flawlessly executed: It is Loki, of course, playing the virginal that Thor's mother caused to be purchased for her, one of so many attempts to calm her restlessness. She enjoyed the gift, taking to it as she does to all the diversions that are given her, practicing it, mastering it with ease, and still remaining restless, as before. There is something in a giant's heart that cannot be satisfied, Thor has learned, no matter how much is given.

Reaching his wife's chambers, on the first floor, Thor pauses. He touches the door. He should knock, he knows. It would be polite, since the music has no doubt covered sound of his approach. At the thought, anger fills him, though. A man should not have to beg entrance from his own wife.

Pushing the door open, Thor enters. Just for a moment, he sees Loki as she was before his arrival: In casual dress, her bodice loosened, only her white linen shift underneath, sleeves rolled to the elbow, to allow her hands free motion. Ivory fingers raised high, above keys only slightly paler, her head bent, the gold mesh that constrains her dark hair glinting, in the light from an open window. Then, becoming aware of his presence, Loki jumps up. Her hand goes to her throat in a gesture of nervousness, but is it feigned, or real?

"Husband." For the briefest moment, her voice is breathless. Then her movements still, and she is again the controlled Princess Loki. She gives him a cool smile. "To what do I owe this unexpected honor?"

If he ever knew her true nature… If he ever could know… What is this woman that he has married, is she the lady wife she appears in public, or the turbulent giantess, and creature of disorder, who has caused so much mischief since arriving in Asgard? Is she… Could she be? ...Just once or twice, for a few brief moments, when she had first arrived, Loki appeared to be something else entirely, a comrade, with whom Thor could relax, as he does with friends from childhood, and a lover, whose embraces were tender, and felt sincere.

Sometimes thoughts of that Loki come back to him. They make him brusquer, and more irritable, with the one he sees now. "Do I need a reason to visit my wife?" Regrettably, his words come out clipped.

"Some husbands would." For her own part, Loki has an edge to her voice. "Some would not. So much depends on context, does it not?"

As controlled as if this were a court event, Loki moves from her instrument, to take a seat on the chaise near the window. She gestures toward the place next to her. "For you, if you wish it."

Thor does not. Loki is not above causing pain in small, childish ways, pins, finding the place between vest and breeches to draw blood, and the like. Not wishing to return to All-Father unsuccessful, however, he takes the seat.

Loki's face is inscrutable. "How, pray, does the Lady Sif do, this morning?"

Thinking about the shock, when first he viewed her shorn head, Thor represses a frown. How should he deal with this? What would Father, who is so eager for him to embrace this treacherous wife, have him to do? Choosing dishonesty for his response, "She is well," he says.

"I'm sure she is." Loki's voice is amused. "And Mistress Foster? How fares she?"

Mrs. Jane Foster was a lady of Loki's bedchamber. She was intelligent, a good companion. She was Aesir, despite having spent some years in the colonies, and she thought like an Asgardian, and behaved like one. There was never anything between her and Thor, though, for all Loki thought there was, and the child that swelled her belly, some months after she started serving Loki was that of her eventual husband. Try explaining this to an angry giantess, however. Try explaining anything to one.

"Mistress Foster is quite well, I am sure." Thor stops. Another attempt: "May I speak honestly, Wife?" he says.

Loki's face resumes its blank mask. "Had you not been, until now?"

"I spoke to my father today."

"All-Father." Loki's smile appears almost genuine. "Our beloved King. I pray his good health."

"He had words to say about you, Wife."

The mask slipping, Loki appears to tense. "Yes?" Is this finally truth, or only another pretense?

"I would end this estrangement between us."

Now Loki appears fully honest. "You would end it because All-Father tells you to, Thor. No doubt he threatened your chance at the throne. Be realistic, you will get the throne regardless, there are no other heirs. Go back and play with your mistresses. Plow Jane Foster in her husband's bed, or wherever you two like to do it, or why not go hunting with Sif, as the two of you do so often?"

"Loki!" There are lies in what she says, truth, mixed with lies. As always, Thor feels powerless to distinguish between the two. How to speak of truth to a giantess? How to get close, to someone who holds you away so resolutely?

And his wife looks at him, her smile cynical. "Yes, Husband?"

"I need an heir."

"You will get one in due time," she says.

Thor feels a sudden, brief flood of anger. If she tries to foist some giant's byblow off on him… Pushing his emotions back, he makes his tone gentle. "How will we, Loki, when we spend so little time together?"

The response he gets is brief: "There will be no heir then, I suppose."

Looking around his wife's room, Thor understands some of what lies behind the quick response. He and his wife have very different interests. Books pile the tables in here, and crowd a bookshelf set, recessed, away from the window's light, that would fade leather bindings. Sheafs of music are stacked elsewhere, magical implements crowd into what little space is left. Loki lives as all ladies do, in Frigga's court, a life in which scholarship, and magical mastery are as important as protocol.

It occurs to him, suddenly, that this does not have to be so. Loki has, still, the shape-shifting powers that are part of her giantish heritage. He thinks about the possibility that, perhaps, a Prince Loki might have been his friend.

"We married too quickly after meeting, Wife." Thor speaks slowly, trying to sort out the ideas that are coming to him.

Loki, for her part, merely gives a cynical laugh. "Water under the bridge at this point, surely?"

But, having conceived the idea, Thor must now give voice to it. "No, I believe it is not. I married too quickly, and I expected too much of you. You are not an Asgardian woman, and should not have to live as one. You must live…" No one has ever pretended that Thor was an eloquent man. Now he turns, taking his wife's hands in both his, trying to show the sincerity and the good will that he cannot properly put into words. "I would give you a chance to express your giantish nature," he says, "to be more than a mere woman, living the narrow life at court."

"You would give me the chance to mother more foals?" At least now, the edge in Loki's voice sounds genuine. "To embarrass you in front of your friends?"

"I was wrong to be embarrassed before." This, at least is true. The next of what Thor says is not; he hopes against hope that Loki will believe it, though. "If it happens again, I will give you understanding. For now, though, I was speaking of another shape."

Loki's eyes say that she knows exactly where truth ended and untruth began, in her husbands words. She does not mention it, however, but merely asks, "Another shape?"

"The shape of a man." This was the idea that was in Thor's mind. "Of a friend," he says, "a companion."

"Someone to drink with you and your friends, nights, in the tavern?" Loki's voice is neutral, at first. Gradually, amusement warms it. "To hunt bilgesnapes with you, at dawn?"

Seated next to Thor, suddenly, is his friend Fandral. But in truth, it is his wife, who has assumed his shape. "Is this what you had in mind, Thor?" Loki asks, "or this?" The chaise groans, as Volstagg's weight presses upon it, where Fandral had been a moment before. "I am hungry," says Loki. "By Odin's beard, it has been at least five minutes since I ate! ...Or perhaps you meant this shape." Just for a moment, she is Sif. A malicious Sif, her cropped hair even shorter than in reality, and her behavior all the more mannish.

Keeping his patience through these giantish antics, Thor suggests, "I meant your own shape. How did you appear when you were in Jotunheim?"

The figure that is next to him now is that of a young man. Dark hair, and a pale, composed face, not so very different from that Loki wears as a woman. It is different enough, though. None will take this quiet youth, with his modest, black-and-green clothing, for the Princess. Thor and Loki will have the freedom they haven't had before, to get to know each other properly, and, hopefully, a bond will grow between them.

Thor smiles at his new comrade. "That will do nicely."


	2. Tell me, Where is Fancy Bred?

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe**  
**Characters: Loki, Thor, Volstagg, Hogun, Fandral, Skurge, Tony Stark** **  
****Author's note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

Riding out to follow the bilgesnape, with the world still full-dark on all sides, Loki thinks of his homeland. It is only on days such as these, that Asgard bears any resemblance to cold Jotunheim. That land of perpetual winter, where no human can survive, is barely supportable even to a giant's constitution. Loki thinks about what it felt like to leave, to go to Asgard, where it seemed like the sun always shone.

Once, it seemed that his husband shone, just as golden as the sun. Thor thinks, mistakenly, that he can regain this place in Loki's estimation. Any fool would know this is impossible, but Thor is stubborn. For now, though, at least there is peace between husband and wife. Man-Loki relaxes with Thor, as his lady self could not. He joins in his amusements, boring though some of them are.

A call from ahead: "Come, Loki, the bilgesnape!"

As a game animal, the bilgesnape is not worth much. Their taste is poor, and they are too ugly to make a good trophy. They are a challenge, though. Asgardians seem ever to love a challenge.

Loki spurs his mount forward. Ahead, he can hear, first the confused noises of the dogs, and then, also mingled in confusion, the voices of the hunters. "They have the scent." That's Volstagg. "If we let them off their leads."

"I'm not letting a bilgesnape savage my hounds," gruff Hogun growls.

Then Thor's voice, casual, faintly amused as always. "Are your animals so ill-trained, my friend? Keep them leashed, then. We will go on foot, as they follow the scent."

"What about him?" Volstagg jerks one pudgy thumb backward. Normally, he would be talking about Loki. Of all Thor's friends, this fat lummox is the only one who cannot seem to reconcile the guise Loki now wears, with that he wore when first he arrived in Asgard. The others move comfortably between giving the lady Loki the respect she deserves, as a Princess, and treating this one, the young man, as the comrade he has become. Volstagg, however? He merely is rude to both.

This time, for once, there is another who has earned the fat warrior's disrespect. He is one Anthony Stark, of Asgardian heritage, but born in the colonies. He is a seafaring man, a merchant by trade, but with that of the piratical about his nature, as is needed, to ensure the safety of his ships. Stark vouchsafed the night before, when first mention was made of the upcoming hunt, that there are no bilgesnapes in Midgard. Since then, Volstagg has gone out of his way to treat him with the most patronizing condescension.

Stark, for his part, seems more amused than offended, and responds by making the most ridiculously ignorant comments. "I grow hungry…" This, he said about an hour ago, just two hours into their search for their quarry. "How I look forward to roasting this delicious bilgesnape, when we are back at Hlidskjalf!" Volstagg's irritable comment to the sally was enough to make a cat laugh. To his credit, though, Stark has been considerate to his hosts, and has kept his jokes sotto voce, so as not to alert their prey.

Looking to his side now, Loki notices that Stark is riding alongside him. In truth, he handles his mount clumsily enough, part of the reason, perhaps, that he has earned Volstagg's condescension. His head is bare, hair cut much shorter than men wear it in Asgard. His beard is shorter too, trimmed in a way that must be the style in Midgard. Stark gives Loki one of the smiles that seems to come so easily for him. "You've fallen behind along with me. Dare I venture to hope that I am not the only poor rider in the party?"

Loki has been trained in riding since the cradle. As in Asgard, so in Jotunheim as well, nobles are expected to spend much of their lives in the saddle. It would be rude to insult a guest of All-Father by pointing this out, however. He returns the Midgardian's smile. "Perhaps I am not interested in hunting bilgesnapes."

"And why not?" Stark has a good face, heavily tanned, always with that friendly smile, and a warm light, in his brown eyes. "I hear tell from our friend Volstagg that they are quite delicious."

"A toothsome delicacy." Loki cannot help smiling back. "Would you like to see what they are really used for, Friend Stark?" he offers without thinking. "I can show you."

* * *

Spending time tete-a-tete with the Midgardian was never his intention, but now Loki has committed himself. Having brought their quarry to ground, Thor and his friends have all gone off to celebrate this marvelous feat by getting drunk, at a tavern in town, and Loki and Stark are alone. As they ride back toward Hlidskjalf, at first the conversation moves easily. Gradually, though, their voices quiet.

There is a tension, growing between them, something so palpable that one can almost see it, or smell it; perhaps that would be a better analogy. It is a fragrance, faint at first, as when one senses the presence of roses, without quite being able to be sure if they are there or not, but growing, gradually, until it nearly overwhelms. Loki finds himself noticing details: Stark's hands, on the reins. They are strong hands, brown, like his face, and very rough. The hands of a man who works for a living, rather than live the easy existence of a courtier. He notices the muscles, swelling his coat-sleeves, the breadth of the shoulders that are revealed, when his cloak blows backward.

For his part, Stark seems to be noticing things as well. He keeps glancing over at Loki, and the looks he gives him… Princess Loki would know how to interpret those looks. She would be flattered, but she would have to content herself with doing nothing about them. Princess Loki is married to the future King of Asgard. Her body must be given only to him, that she can give him a true heir for the Throne. As a young man, Loki is more free. He can pursue the meaning of those glances Stark keeps giving him, even if they lead unto the bedchamber. There are men who lay with other men. Is Stark one of those? What would that be like?

"The bilgesnapes…" Their journey has proceeded in silence, almost to within sight of Hlidskjalf, wheen Stark finally breaks the silence. He is trying to maintain his usual joking tone, but there is a new hoarseness in his voice. "You said you would show me."

"It is quite a sight." Loki clears his throat, surprised by to hear hoarseness in his own voice too. :A fascinating array. Truly, they are beautiful animals."

Loki pictures the trophy room on the ground floor of Hlidskjalf. It is deserted, half-dark, always shrouded in silence. No eyes would see anything that transpired there, save for the glass eyes of the stuffed bilgesnape trophies that line the walls. No ears would hear, save theirs… There are men who lay with other men, Loki thinks again, and he swallows.

"I still think we should consider eating that bilgesnape." Loki has already dismounted. Stark, now, quits his own horse, with Skurge's help. "It can't be much worse than our fare at sea." Most men would have been embarrassed at having such clumsiness with a horse be witnessed by another, but Stark seems not to care at all. He regains the ground… His height is several inches shorter than Loki's, which also seems not to bother him at all. "I could tell you stories. Skippers, Loki, have you heard of those?"

"Skippers?"

That feeling that was almost a fragrance is still there, swoonfully powerful now. That, and the mental picture of the dark, deserted trophy room, that fills Loki's mind. Their casual conversation is a lifeline, but Loki can barely hear it anymore, over the pounding of his heart.

"Maggots? Perhaps you've heard them called thus?" Stark, for his part, seems perfectly comfortable, the earlier hoarseness gone from his voice now. "Also, there is a reason why sailors drink so much rum," he says. "It is because of the poor quality of our drinking water."

"Midgardian drinking water."

They're walking through the grand hall of the palace, now, deserted too, at this early afternoon hour. Odin is working, no doubt, Queen Frigga is probably with her ladies-in-waiting. Thor, is in town, Loki thinks, with a feeling like relief, along with his loutish friends, all of them celebrating their tremendous victory over yet another bilgesnape.

Why should there be relief? What matters it to anyone, what Young Man Loki does? He cannot bear another man's child, after all.

Stark has continued talking. "You think your Asgardian water would survive a sea voyage?"

Your Asgardian… But of course, Stark knows nothing of Loki's identity. To him, he is merely an Asgardian, of noble birth. Playing the role he has been given, Loki speaks lightly. "Everything Asgardian is obviously superior to anything from any other of the Nine Realms. Our water…"

They have turned into a secondary hallway. The trophy room is up ahead. Loki feels his palms sweat.

"And your bilgesnapes, of course."

Loki's hand leaves a visible smear of sweat on the door, as he pushes it open. "Of course, that goes without saying." He speaks quickly, leading Stark into the trophy room, before he can see the mark. Pushing the door shut, "And our men," he says. "The Aesir are naturally superior to men of any other realm."

"Your men?" Loki has not moved away from the door, when Stark turns to face him. He is trapped against the door now, or it feels that way, Stark looking up at him, with an interested expression, and that warm look in his eyes. "Why your men, in particular?"

"Why not?" Surely Stark must hear Loki's heart now too, for it is pounding loudly enough. He must hear it, he must respond. How long are they supposed to keep up with the pretence that this is a mere conversation? "I could have chosen anything," he says, "our women, our men, our infants, even. Tell me, Stark, do you really think your Midgardian men can measure up to the Aesir?"

Stark gestures, indicating his height , compared to Loki's. "I suppose it depends what is being measured." He takes a step back, and turns, facing the room. Gazing up at the walls, he gasps, audibly. "So many bilgesnapes!"

The lightening of the atmosphere is at once a relief, and terribly disappointing. Something had been about to happen, up until a few moments ago. Did Loki want it to happen? Would he have regretted it, if it had happened?

"Are we supposed to just leave the bodies on the ground after we kill them?" he asks Stark.

"But really, why?" The other man is still staring upward, his eyes going from one mounted head to the next, all around the room. "After a certain point, how many trophies do you need?"

How many indeed? This is a question that has tormented Loki time and again, all the more, since he was married to Thor, and came to Hlidskjalf, as one more trophy.

"The Aesir are an acquisitive people," he says. "One day perhaps I will also show you Odin's Treasure Room."

"I would not want to get you in trouble with All-Father."

Loki cannot explain to this outsider, why he is allowed to make free with the possessions of the Royal Family. Instead, "We will go undetected," he says, which is true enough, as far as it goes. "I know some secret passages."

Stark pulls his attention, a little unwillingly, away from the bilgesnapes. "Is it as interesting as this?"

"It is a Treasure Room. What more need I say?"

"Of course, Treasure."

They have seen the bilgesnapes. Now, there is no reason to remain in the trophy room. Nonetheless, though, neither of them makes an effort to leave.

"You aren't like the other men in Asgard," Stark says.

Loki makes an attempt to prevaricate. "I am not like the other men anywhere," he says. In his mind, he is thinking about his dual nature. Stark, not knowing this, of course, takes his words differently.

"Sometimes I don't think I am either," he says. "I don't mind it so much, at sea. At sea, we all have to take different roles, men being men, men being women, women being men too, sometimes, whatever is needed at the moment. On land it's different." For the first time, Loki hears a faint note of bitterness in his voice.

There is still that promise between them, waiting, as yet to be realized. They both tried to step away from it, but why bother? Why not give in? "Can you really say that we are on land right now, though, Stark?"

"We are in a trophy room." Stark's voice changes, no bitterness, the faint hint of something warmer than friendship. He's giving in to what's between them too now, isn't he? "Are you saying that's not land?"

"Does it look like land?" Loki gestures at the bilgesnapes on the wall. "Do you really think there are land creatures, as ugly as those?"

"I have a wife at home." Stark has not given in yet, but he is beginning to. "I would not hurt her, Loki."

"Never." Loki stifles the instant anger he cannot help feeling at this "wife at home." He has a husband too, he reminds himself, and he dare not anger him too far. "But she is in Midgard," he says, "and we are here. And really, Stark, is this place land, or sea?"

"If we pretended it was sea, what would happen?" Stark takes one of Loki's hands in both his. He turns it upward, tracing the lines in the palm. "You have very soft hands," he says. "The hands of a noble."

"Your hands are those of a seafarer." The feel of Stark's hands is rough, and the scars… Oh, the scars… An impulse surges in Loki's chest: He wants to put his mouth against these rough, scarred hands. As if he could eat them up, and they'd be his, forever.

"They're the hands of a peasant. My mouth is soft, though." Stark reaches up, cupping Loki's face between his two rough hands, pulling it down, so they are at the same level. Their lips meet in a kiss that is sweet, tender, and too, too terribly short. "We had better get back to the court, hadn't we?" When Stark steps away, his voice is uneven, and there is regret in his eyes.

"I suppose." Loki hates the court, he wishes it were at the bottom of the ocean. ...Where, unfortunately, Stark the seafarer would probably find it. He wishes that everyone, from the highest member of the Royal Family, to the meanest sculleryman in the kitchen, were dead and rotting. But he is used to doing his duty.

"I have business to discuss with All-Father," Stark says. "My charter needs renewing, and I would negotiate better terms."

"Of course." Loki's voice is his usual, cool voice. "I would not keep you from that."

"Perhaps we could come back here again sometime?" There is wistfulness in Stark's voice.

"Perhaps." Loki fights the wistfulness that instantly surges through him in response. This Midgardian will prove to be a disappointment, as is everyone else in his life. And yet, if he does not expect too much… "It is, after all, not really land in here," he says.

"Neither land, nor sea, but a place between worlds." Stark reaches out and squeezes Loki's hand again, just for a moment. Then he turns, leaving quickly.

Loki lingers a little, before following him out. It smells like Stark in here.


	3. O Word of Fear

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe**  
**Characters: Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Peter Parker, Thor, Volstagg, Fandral, Hogun, Sif, Loki****  
****Author's note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

"A fair, in the countryside? Tony, we can go, can't we?"

One of the things Tony has regretted on this visit to Asgard, is how little time he's been able to spend with his friends, Jim and Peter. As owner of the Stark Mercantile Company, his welcome at Hlidskjalf was assured. His friends were not so fortunate. It is not their comfort that has been stinted; he has paid a visit to the inn where they are staying, and it's accommodations for them are most satisfactory. In his view, though, they are deserving of far more dignity. He would have it that they, as well as he, should receive their due.

Tony's own responsibilities at Hlidskjalf are finally over. All-Father has granted him the second charter he sought. Now both he and Jim are authorized to sail under the flag of Asgard. New ships will have to be prepared. Where before, Tony's own craft, the Mark VII, protected the two smaller vessels, with their load of manufactured goods, bound for Midgard, now Jim too must have a ship of his own, and smaller vessels as well, to protect.

Business is not quite out of the way yet, for the trip. Goods will still need to be purchased, for their return to Midgard. Fine furniture, from the cabinetmakers in Asgard, gowns, from the nimble fingers of Vanaheim, and a million other things. So many transactions, yet to be accomplished, but for now, they can wait. Today, apparently, there is a fair.

Peter is past one-and-twenty, the accomplished veteran of many sea voyages. And yet, all it takes is the promise of fun, and he is a boy again. Tony looks into eyes alight with enthusiasm.

"Can we go, Tony?" Peter asks again. "Please? It's such a beautiful day."

In truth, the autumn weather is magnificent. Cold though it is in early morning, now, at 9:00 AM, the sun is bright, and a crisp breeze invites a man to venture outside.

"You've been indoors too much lately, Tony." Jim sides with Peter. "What exercise have you gotten, beyond that hunt for… What were they again?"

"Bilgesnapes."

Jim and Peter laugh. Tony has told them about the hunt. He described the bilgesnape itself, in all its ridiculous ugliness. He told of Thor, and his enthusiastic fellow-sportsmen. His friends were particularly taken with his description of Volstagg. "The unspeakable, in full pursuit of the inedible," he called him, passing off the quip, which he'd heard from Loki, as his own. Much of what he told him was colored, so much, by Loki's perceptions, and yet he was the one detail of the hunt that Tony left out.

In truth, he did not know how to talk about Loki. Not that his friends had not seen him with men a few times. Jim, who knew him before his marriage to Virginia, has seen him with both men and women, but Peter too, has seen enough over the years, that he would have understood if there had been a dalliance. This had been no dalliance, but instead an attraction. Their only contact was a few touches of hand to hand, and that one kiss, and yet…

How does one speak of someone who is barely an acquaintance, and yet one dreams about them at night? How can one explain about a single kiss, that somehow leaves more lasting impact than any full night of debauchery?

A picture fills Tony's head again, at the mere mention of the word "bilgesnape:" A silent, darkened room, row upon row of glass eyes, staring down from the walls. A slim young man, with shining dark hair, and a soft voice. And that kiss…

"I still maintain that we should have eaten the bilgesnape," Tony says, lightening the mood for his friends. "How bad could it have been? Remember the salt pork we ate, when we were becalmed east of Barbados?"

"I remember you telling Peter that gunpowder would drive the skippers out," Jim says, laughing.

"To be fair, I tried that as well." Tony joins in his friend's laughter.

Peter, laughing too, chimes in: "I will say, it tasted better with the gunpowder than without. And who knows," he adds, "perhaps bilgesnapes are a taste treat, as yet unknown."

His friends: Their company warms Tony's heart, and it relaxes him. What a relief it will be when he is all done with court life, and back at sea with them. No more bilgesnapes, and fools who would drag him out to hunt them, no more secretive young men, and stolen kisses, in out-of-the-way locations. No more Loki…

Tony pushes even the name out of his mind, and wills himself to return to the present. Looking again, into Peter's eager eyes, "You shall have your fair my friend," he tells him. "Business can wait."

* * *

The last time Tony visited an Asgardian fair was in early childhood, before his family emigrated to Midgard. Walking the country road into the village where this one is being held brings back so many memories. He hears the vendors: "Hot pies here, come, get your hot pies!" "A fairing for thy sweetheart?" "Lads, come, try your luck!" There is the noise from a traveling puppet show, Punch, doing his eternal war with Judy, and the eager laughter of the audience. There are the smells, food cooking, mingled with the odor of the livestock being sold. There is color everywhere, parti-colored mummers' costumes, brightly flowered calico and glittering glass jewels, in the merchants' booths.

Peter, who was born in the colonies, has never seen such a thing before. He wants to be everywhere at once, and finally, Tony and Jim let him proceed on ahead. "I'll be back at the inn tonight," he calls to them, as he goes off.

"He won't, you know," Jim comments to Tony. "Probably he'll get drunk, and lay with a farmer's daughter in a hayrick, and sleep the night there."

"You've done worse, as have I," Tony says, acknowledging the truth in his friend's words. "We were all young once."

Tony, for his part too, feels unwarranted excitement, far more than he would have expected, from so small a fair. It is bracing to be outside in the fresh air, getting exercise, after too many days indoors, at Hlidskjalf. He looks around, taking in sight, sound and smell, trying to decide where to proceed first.

"Food I think, first, Tony." Jim, beside him, makes plans aloud. "A pork pie, perhaps, or two maybe. And ale." He points ahead, indicating a tent, crowded around with men holding tankards.

Tony licks his lips. Indeed, their walk was a dusty one, and a draft or two of fresh country ale would not come amiss. With his friend, he proceeds toward the tent.

* * *

When he hears the familiar voices, Tony's first impulse is to quit the tent. Why? It matters not, surely, if friends from the two parts of his life should meet? And after he has told Jim so many stories, about Volstagg, and the bilgesnapes…

Tony's gaze finds Thor at the bar. "A pitcher of ale for my friends and me, my lovely chick," he tells the alewife, a blowsy woman, easily two-score and ten, or more. She responds with the love All-Father's heir receives wherever he goes, an agreeable reply first, followed by the giggle of a girl, when he leans in to buss her on the cheek.

From a table near him, comes the voice of one of the others. " One pitcher only?" The humorous voice belongs to blond Fandral. "Why, Volstagg will finish that in one swallow, and then what will the rest of us drink?"

Tony looks at the table. Fandral is there, yes, and burly Volstagg, silent Hogun, and the warrior-girl, Sif. And there, sitting slightly apart from the others… He swallows. There is Loki.

The wave of longing that surges through him at the sight, confuses Tony. What is he longing for? And why? He glances to his left, where Jim sits. He would not hurt his friend for the world, but suddenly he wants him gone, far, far away.

"Tony, are you well?" Jim's worried voice.

How could he possibly explain to his friend, what he does not understand himself? "I have an impulse to disport myself this afternoon," Tony says. It is not quite a lie.

Jim has to have noticed the direction of Tony's gaze, but he is too good a friend to make comment. Instead, "Some local beauty has caught your eye?" he says playfully. Indicating the alewife, "Her perhaps?" he asks. "You would take your turn after her blond friend is finished?"

"Her blond friend is Prince Thor" Tony owes Jim this much information, at least. "And his friends are with him, the ones I told you about, from the hunt."

A true friend, these many years, Jim takes in the information quickly, then sallies forth from the tent. "There is enough to do at a fair, to keep me busy, surely," he says. "There are players, and musicians. And, have I said how much I long for a taste of Asgardian rock?"

"Every time we buy sugar from the men of Nidavellir." Does his response sound distracted? Tony strives that it should not. "And then you always comment on how, since we grow sugar cane in Midgard, we should just make our own sugar, and candy, there."

"As we should. Farewell, Tony." Jim takes his leave.

Tony, for his part, moves to greet Thor and his friends, at their table. Most welcome him pleasantly enough, including him quickly in their badinage. In spite of himself, there is one welcome only, that Tony awaits. It comes, once the other voices are raised again, in loud conversation. Loki's voice, pitched so only the two of them can hear: "You're back again, Stark?"

"Like a bad penny." Tony looks into Loki's face: It is completely immobile. No emotion there, not even in the eyes. "Did you think Volstagg had driven me away?"

"The bilgesnape." Loki's voice is different too. It's cooler than the last time. "They can be dangerous, and you are but a weak Midgardian."

"A Midgardian man." Loki's voice should not be different. Tony knows he should keep his own words light, playful, but how can he, when Loki treats him as if he were a stranger? "Loki..." He wills himself to be silent, not daring to say more.

"Stark?" A change comes over Loki's face. At first, it is the same as before, cool, and expressionless. He lifts one eyebrow, ironic inquiry. Then his green eyes darken. He looks away. "Why did you come back, Stark?" His voice is quicker now, and intense, so intense. "You shouldn't have come back. We'll both be sorry."

"I shouldn't have accosted you here, I know." Where is their playful spirit from the other day? Where are the games, the pretense, of the room between worlds? "There are no bilgesnapes here," Tony attempts. "I know that means this is land, not sea."

"I joke not." Loki sounds near tears. "This is more complicated than you know."

"Then tell me."

Loki's voice hardens, as he responds, "I will not."

After this, Loki rises. He makes excuses to the assembled party. "The close air… I feel faint." Thor would go after him, but he is assured this is not necessary. Tony, however, does follow.

"You stupid, Midgardian fool." They are out in the fair now, booths on both sides. Voices do not need to be kept so low out here, the voices of fair-goers and merchants obscuring anything they say. "You come here, with your games, and your jokes." Loki walks quickly between the booths, until he comes to an oak tree, then he turns, looking at Tony. "You don't understand how things are."

Tony doesn't understand, and what's terrible, is that Loki doesn't understand anything about him either. Before, this didn't matter, though. Why does it matter so much now?

"I want to tell you something, Loki." Tony sits on the bench under the tree. After awhile, Loki joins him. "My wife at home, her name is Virginia. I am home, one, perhaps two months out of the year. The rest of the time she is alone there, and it is not civilized, as it is here."

Loki's body is still stiff, but his voice sounds more accommodating now. "Why do you tell me this?"

"I would make things easier for her," Tony continues, "but I cannot stay there with her. A merchant must go to sea, if he would make the money he needs to live. And so I leave her there…"

"And you are unfaithful sometimes, with men such as me?" The words are insulting, but there is no sting in Loki's tone. Instead, it is thoughtful. "I have made vows as well," he says, his voice slow. "I have never broken those vows, Stark, but sometimes I ask myself, why not?"

Does it break those vows, if all they do is look at each other, and talk? Does it break them if they kiss, even? Surely a vow worth its salt could not be broken so easily. Tony tells himself he is keeping his faith with Virginia, and that Loki too, breaks no vows. Even as he thinks this, though, he knows it is not true. Heart can touch heart too, as well as body touches body, and just as much can change too, as a result. Some things, though, cannot be resisted. They are there, like air, light, or water.

They bring joy too, like air, light and water. If the harm has been done already, why not celebrate the joy? "I would not have you break any vows for me," Tony tells Loki, knowing it is only half a truth. "Had I known you would be at the fair today, I'd not have come, but you are here, and I am. Can we not share the hour? After that, you will go back to your life, and I to mine, and we will both have something to remember."

"Some of us are not made for the joys of life." Loki's face his shadowed, his voice has a somber note to it.

It is more than Tony can do, not to break this mood that has fallen on him. "You speak so? How ridiculous. Come!" Taking Loki's hands, he pulls him from his seat. "Let us have fun at the fair."

Loki has never watched Punch and Judy before. He has never thrown coins to a traveling minstrel, and when he tries the cheap wooden lute at the instrument-maker's booth, he strikes music from it, lovely enough to be heard at court. He laughs at the jesters' quips, and eats Asgardian rock, until his face is sticky, and when he stops, with Tony, at the fairing-booth, his eyes light on a green glass brooch there, as if it were the finest of jewels.

"Do you want it?" The thing is the merest trifle, costing a shilling, worth maybe a tenth of that. But, if it puts a smile on Loki's face, he shall have it.

"No." His eyes say that he does.

"I'll buy you something," Tony says, "and you shall buy something for me. I warn you, I want the most expensive thing in the booth."

That does it, Loki is smiling now. "How expensive could that be?" He surveys the display of fairings. "Nothing here is worth more than a penny or two.'

Of course, the seller immediately pipes up, touting the value of this gimcrack and that one. "Take this val-yoo-able knoife…" He holds up a blade that would not cut butter. "Me good gents, look and see: Tell me this is not worth the guinea I ask for it."

"I would not give you more than a shilling." Loki looks at Tony. "Tell me, Stark, do you want this so val-you-able knoife?"

Tony gives him smile for smile. "A man can't have too many val-you-able knoives."

Is it shameful that they exchanged kisses, along with the fairings? Two small kisses, not much, in the grand, broad scheme of things. But, that they were all Tony thought about, while he fell to sleep that night… That, perhaps, is a little bit more.

* * *

Note: The line about "the unspeakable in pursuit of the inedible" was originally said by Oscar Wilde. I stole it here, for Loki.


	4. A Wight of High Renown

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe**  
**Characters: Loki, Thor, Odin, Frigga, Volstagg, Fandral, Hogun, Sif, Malekith, and assorted unnamed Svart men, Tony Stark** **  
****Author's note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

A pale hand, holding an ornament of green and gold. Glass and brass merely, but it makes a brave show. Loki's lips curve upward, a smile of amusement. Midgardians are funny. "I'll buy you a fairing," Stark said, "and you shall buy me one." And that ridiculous trinket he chose. A knife, but such a knife! He laughs again, at the thought.

Naturally, his own fairing must be put away. Loki of Asgard would not wear such, not the young man, comrade to Thor and his friends, and certainly not the Princess. Opening his jewelry box, Loki removes boxes containing pearls, gold, set with rubies and diamonds. All the glister and pomp of the ornaments that belong, traditionally, to the consort of Asgard's heir. The green-and-gold fairing is laid gently in a bed of velvet, at the very bottom of the box. Is he hiding it? Would it be so very surprising if he were? Giants are known for their deception, are they not? In truth, though, he means only to protect it. What was it Stark said yesterday? "We shall share this hour? After that, you will go back to your life, and I to mine, and we will both have something to remember." Who will be harmed, if Loki saves the trinket, as token of his hour of happiness?

There is a knock on the door. "Are you there, Loki?"

Setting the jewelry box to rights quickly, Loki puts it to one side. He assumes the form of the Princess. There is a state dinner tonight, and she must prepare. Raising her voice, to be heard through the heavy oaken door, "You may come in, Husband," she says.

Thor is half ready, hose, breeches and codpiece in place, but wearing only a shirt above that. He, of course, looks magnificent. When has Thor not looked magnificent?

Loki still has all her preparing to do. She will summon her tiring-women, they will assist her into her clothing, put on her make-up, and do her hair into the stiff, formal style required for a state event. For now, though, like her husband, she is in a state of undress, her only clothing the linen shift she sleeps in, loose enough to be worn either in male or female form.

Things are easier between the husband and wife now, which is pleasant. "How fares my lovely wife this evening?" Thor comes to Loki's side and takes her hand, kissing it with an enthusiasm somewhat beyond what would be appropriate at court.

Thor is always most charming when he is most enthusiastic. These are the times when Loki still can't resist him, despite all that has passed between them. As soon resist a puppy, bounding over to put muddy paws on one's skirt, and say hello.

"I am well." Loki eyes her husband up and down. "Is this your attire for the evening, Thor? Do you plan to set a new style, tonight?"

Stark would respond with railery. Loki must not think about Stark tonight. Nonetheless, it comes somewhat amiss when her husband's response is completely literal. "You know I leave the new styles to Fandral. He is so much better at them. My doublet is still waiting in my room. It fits tight, today. Too many pork pies at the fair, yesterday."

"Too many tankards of ale, rather." Thisfairly pedestrian style of teasing is what Thor always prefers, and it is easy enough to fall back into the habit. "Volstagg had help, drinking up all the alewife's stock, I am sure."

"We missed you, toward the end of the afternoon, Loki." Thor has sat down next to her on the bench at her dressing table, now. He still holds her hand, playing with the fingers, occasionally kissing one or another. "Were you having fun?"

"Stark was showing me the sights of the fair." Loki walls off any emotion that might be caused by her words. Let there be facts only, to give her lawful husband. She is with him now, and that is good too, in its way. "There was so much more to it, than just that stuffy ale-tent. You would have been surprised."

"I have gone to Asgardian fairs before." Thor's face falls. "I should have shown you the fair myself, Loki. Of course you had no idea what you would see there, when you grew up in Jotunheim."

"We have our fairs in Jotunheim, too." Dismal though they are, in that unfriendly environment.

"I am sure they cannot be like Asgardian fairs." Thor, with his easy assumption that of course everything that belongs to him must be the best. His homeland, with their fairs, and his friends, and his wife. And yet, it is easy enough to fall into the habit with him, and Thor is pleasant company, in his way.

"Naturally, everything Asgardian is best." If Loki hears an echo of teasing words, said to Stark a day or two ago, she pushes it away. This is simpler teasing, Jotun to Asgardian, and it evokes a smile from Thor.

"Loki, I'm so happy we reconciled." The words are heartfelt; Thor is always so quick to give full honesty.

"I am too." This much, at least, is full truth.

"You have been a good comrade, these past weeks." Thor puts his arm around Loki's waist, where it lies, heavy, and pleasantly warm. "I hope you enjoy having more freedom?"

Loki has more freedom than anyone at Hlidskjalf. Even Queen Frigga, who holds power second only to All-Father himself, cannot move as she does, between a woman's life of magic, and a man's, of action. In truth, it is pleasant living this way. And, if there is still deception required, what of it? Loki is a giant, and giants are creatures of deception.

Thor's body is strong, well-muscled, like Stark's. This body is Loki's alone, though, there is no "wife, back in the colonies." Thor has no divided loyalties; Loki can enjoy his embraces unreservedly. She leans her head against her husband's shoulder. "You have been good to me." Turning to look up at him, her green eyes seek those blue, blue eyes of his. "Your clever idea has given me the freedom I craved, and it has mended the connection between us."

"Mended it?" Thor's lips brush Loki's. Warm lips. If they are not quite as sweet as Stark's, what of it? They are sweet enough, and they belong to Loki. Another kiss, deeper this time.

"As if it had never been damaged." Loki puts her arms around her husband's neck, drawing him close, and then there are more kisses.

* * *

Full-court dress is a cumbersome thing. One does not feel like a human, so much as a walking ornament. All of Loki glitters, her hair, carefully dressed, and woven with pearls, and her face, painted, as a portrait, her gown, rigid, over corset and farthingale, and the ruff, two wired, and stiffly-starched wings of white lace, towering high, to frame her face. Beneath the gown, her shoes too, glitter. Tiny, painful little court shoes, unsuitable even for dancing, appropriate only to show the glory of All-Father's family.

It is not as though Loki would have had much more comfort as a man, though. Walking beside her, Thor is corseted almost as rigidly as she. His breeches are ridiculous, pumpkin-shaped balloons, and his codpiece… Uggh, how Stark would laugh at that codpiece. Surely they do not wear such nonsensical garments at sea.

At the head of the table, All-Father sits, looking as though he were wearing his own throne. Seated on his left side, Frigga must be equally uncomfortable, although, with the innate grace of the Vanir, she manages to appear at-ease. Loki scans the rest of the table: Odin's most honored guests sit here. Thor's friends, the Warriors Three are here, and Sif, whose golden hair, she notes, with just a trace of malice, is still much too short for beauty. The delegation from Svartalfheim is here, five men in dour black, their smug faces showing that they know full well, the power that the gold brought from their new colonies has given them.

Ugly men. Loki thinks about stories she's heard of Asgardian ships fighting Svart ships at sea, and taking their gold. Has Stark fought the men of Svartalfheim? And did he take much of their gold? Good … She must not, not think about Stark tonight.

Thor and Loki take their seats at Odin's right hand. Thor looks at his wife. There is that in his face, that speaks of the hour they spent together, before they dressed for dinner. It is a satisfied look, echoing caresses, and pleasure given and received. It is a warm look too, remembering the words of love that were spoken again, that felt, then, at least, almost as true as they had when they were first married.

Such happiness can never be maintained. This thought too, Loki pushes from her mind. It can be… It must be. Why should there be a limit on how much happiness a person can have?

Odin rises, so covered with gold that it is as if the entire throne were to stand upright. He seems made of gold and precious stones, the entire might of Asgard, embodied in this one man, smaller than some. He looks around the table, that face of his, that holds wisdom and love, as well as Kingly arrogance, and raises bejeweled hands. "My friends, my loyal subjects, and esteemed guests, welcome."

Thor puts a hand on Loki's, and, in an undertone, speaks. "What are we celebrating tonight?"

Naturally he has not taken the time to find out. "It is a dinner in honor of the delegation from Svartalfheim."

"Religious fanatics." The words sound like they taste bad in Thor's mouth.

Loki hides a smile. "Your father would say you still have a lot to learn about diplomacy, Husband. The Svart are very wealthy, and very powerful. It would well behoove Asgard to be on good terms with them."

"It would well behoove them to be on good terms with us." Thor is still so simple, his thinking, so black-and-white. And yet, when he frowns like that, flexing his muscles, as though he can't wait to start breaking Svart heads, he can be so compelling.

"There is a reason why I call you the Thunderer, Husband, and it is not only for the noises you make after a large dinner." Cloacal humor, the lowest humor there is, and yet they both laugh.

"Anything else we can expect, Wife?"

"I believe there are some more guests too." Loki searches her memory, but there are no more details about the evening. She has too many distractions in her life anymore; they keep her from her responsibilities, and she is unprepared. Would she give up any of the distractions, though?

"More guests? I hope the others are agreeable." Thor throws another angry look at the black-clad figures across the table. Loki's heart warms. This simple, hot-headed man she is married to is yet so lovable.

* * *

Dinner at these state events is a painfully protracted affair, with foods chosen for magnificence, rather than for enjoyment. Tray after tray, roasts, heavy with gilding, spiced meats, put back into the skins of the animals they once were, and arranged so as to look alive. Set-pieces, gingerbread castles, with blancmange moats, marzipan figures, on battlements, and crossing the drawbridge. Tray after tray, and food after food, and from each dish, one must take a bite. Servers constantly coming behind, pouring spiced wine, the liquid necessary, to quench thirst awakened by all the food.

Thor, of course, eats like a hungry schoolboy. It is one of his endearing qualities. Down the table, as usual, his friends make pigs of themselves, and, at their own spot, the Svart men, also, put the food away like they haven't seen food since leaving Svartalfheim. Perhaps they haven't; perhaps their religion has required a fast. Loki too, eats, and drinks, somewhat more than is necessitated by mere politeness.

Finally, though, the food is eaten, and the dishes cleared away, save for a few small plates of raisins and nuts, and a tray of golden oranges, a gift from the King of Svartalfheim, in the center of the table. Again, Odin rises. "My friends, I would do proper honor to each of my guests, by introducing them."

First comes the delegation from Svartalfheim. One by one, Odin introduces them, stumbling over the harsh, difficult to pronounce names. Next comes a smaller group from Nidavellir, less important, as everyone knows that land of farmers is under thrall of the Svart. After this, there are some Vanir cousins of the Queen's, and then the Asgardian guests are introduced. Finally, just when Loki thought him done, Odin speaks again.

Stark. He is the next one Odin introduces. "A merchant, and more than a merchant. Son and heir to Howard Stark, founder of the Stark Mercantile Company. A seafaring man, and a hero…" Stark is all that? His scars speak of trials overcome, but, that All-Father should choose to single him out… Stark is more self-deprecating than Loki had thought. If some men had done enough to receive such accolades from their Sovereign, they would have shouted it to the rooftops.

The Midgardian comes forward from where he'd been seated, at one of the lesser tables. His court attire, of red-and-gold, is just slightly unkempt, the ruff a little loose, the tie on one high-heeled court shoe undone, laces trailing. Why must she continually be surrounded by untidy men, Loki thinks, her heart warming? She pushes the thought away. She has had her hour with Stark, now he will go home to the "wife in the colonies."

"Recently, I gave a second charter to the Stark Mercantile Company," Odin begins, then to be interrupted.

A harsh sound, chairs being pushed back, one falling over. The entire Svart delegation is on their feet. Their leader, Malekith, steps forward. "This man should not be honored." His accent grates on the ears. "He is a pirate."

Just for the barest second, Loki allows herself to feel the thrill that goes through her. She has exchanged kisses with a pirate?

Odin's voice: "He is a privateer, licensed by the Crown of Asgard."

"Two ways of saying the same thing." Malekith points toward the door. "I want him out of here. Queen Alflyse will not be pleased when I tell her you gave welcome to such."

"I did no more than any sailor must." Stark never loses his aplomb. His words are firm, and his face? It bears the same relaxed, humorous expression as is always there. "I defended my ships. Was I to allow Svartalfheim to send them to the bottom of the sea?"

"Lies!" Malekith again. "Svartalfheim is at peace with Asgard. We would not have fired on a ship flying Asgardian colors."

"Enough." Odin gestures the Svart men back into their seats. "Stark is an honest man," he says, "and an Asgardian. I will not have him maligned. He has done great service to Asgard, by provisioning our colonists, these many years. He deserves to be honored."

"Is Father going to knight him, do you think?" Thor speaks, from Loki's side. "Remember how clumsy he was on his horse, when we hunted the bilgesnape?"

"Shhh."

Loki watches, as Stark kneels before his sovereign. His easy grace, kneeling in his heavy, court costume, speaks of the well-muscled body beneath the clothes. Loki thinks about seeing that body, clad only in shirt and breeches. Stark bows his head, light shining off his short dark hair. He submits, as Odin's sword touches him, first one shoulder, then the other.

"Rise, Sir Anthony Stark." Odin takes one of Stark's hands, clasping it for a moment, in both of his. "A man such as you does credit to the Crown he serves, Sir Anthony."

"Thank you, All-Father." For once, Stark sounds overcome.

Loki looks away, unable to watch more. The pride she feels: It should not be there. It belongs to the "wife in the colonies." That Virginia of his, what is she like? What makes her more worthy than Loki, to share Stark's caresses?

What else, but that she is not bound to another?

Thor's voice: "Are you all right, Wife?" He touches her hand.

Loki blinks back the tears that are suddenly filling her eyes. "I am fine, Husband, just overcome, from seeing our friend so honored." She puts her own hand over Thor's, and looks at him, reminding herself about how much she already has in her life. "Pray come to my chambers after this dinner is over, Husband. I would begin again, from where we left off this afternoon."

"With pleasure, Wife," Thor says, with ready enthusiasm. Indeed, Loki already has so much.

* * *

Note: I stole again, for this chapter. The bit where Odin knights Tony in front of Malekith is copied as best as I could remember, from the annual scene at the Southern California Renaissance Faire, where Queen Elizabeth I knights Sir Francis Drake.


	5. Youth's a Thing That'll Not Endure

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe**  
**Characters: Frigga, Odin, Thor, Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Peter Parker, Loki, Volstagg** **  
****Author's note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

Odin is tired, though he'll never let on to anyone. Frigga, his wife of many years, sees the signs. They are subtle, but they are there. They hurt her, deep inside. He's worried, too. The peace among the Nine Realms was hard-fought. Many men had to die to earn it. Now things are growing unstable again. Svartalfheim grows arrogant, buoyed by the vast new influx of wealth, from their Midgardian colonies. Nidavellir, which has always been at peace with Asgard, is being drawn - Or forced . - under the control of the Svart.

Is war coming again? And will her husband have to fight it? Frigga thinks about the scars from long-ago battles, that she sees on her husband's body at night, when he undresses in their bedchamber. She thinks about how slowly he moves anymore, when he gets up in the mornings, and how stiff he is, until walking stretches out the kinks. She thinks about the staff he sometimes uses, when he has to walk a long distance, and how that staff remains in an outbuilding, far from the palace, where none can see, when it is not in use.

Frigga frowns. There will not be a war. Svartalfheim, newly rich, grows arrogant. They would buy the power Asgard won by force, and maintains by alliance. It will not happen. Vanaheim will remain loyal. They are a reasonable people, and proud that a lady from the Vanir royal line now sits on the throne of Asgard. Nidavellir understands negotiation, they can be dealt with; Nifflheim and Midgard are not yet important, on the world stage; Thor's marriage to Loki secures Asgard's alliance with Jotunheim. There will be no war.

The marriage: Thor was not happy, marrying a giantess, though Loki was beautiful, and had a pleasant manner. He made his distrust too evident, and Loki retaliated with pranks, and petty cruelties. For a time, it seemed they could not be reconciled. Now, though, it seems there is hope. Frigga thinks about her son coming to her, proudly explaining the compromise he had planned, that was to resolve all conflict between husband and wife. "She is to have the freedom to live as man and woman," he told her. "By day we can be friends, and at night, lovers…" Thor . Foolish child! He gives her what the Lady Sif already has, because she's claimed it for himself, and he thinks he is so generous. Will it be successful? Who knows?

"...It is her giantish nature…" This was the other thing her son told Frigga. "No giant can be constrained too closely, they must have their freedom." Here is a truth which should not have to be said. Loki is a giant, it is simply part of her heritage. As soon point out, "Frigga is Vanir, she must practice magic," or, "Thor is Aesir, his people understand war." If Thor would just stop talking about Loki's nature… If he could just be comfortable with it, as he is with the natures of the others around him… Who knows, perhaps it is too late, and Loki has accepted her husband's characterization, and sees herself as a problem. Perhaps she will grow angry, and dangerous.

There was dancing after dinner, this evening. First, the formal court dances, the bassedance, and the pavane, and the almain. Couples in line, in stately procession, Thor and Loki taking the first place, after Frigga showed Odin the hole she'd worn in her new court shoes, and he begged off for both of them. After a time, the guests from Svartalfheim left, taking with them, a certain heaviness of atmosphere. The music became lighter, and the dances quicker. Gentlemen twirling their ladies, and lifting them high, in the air, music so lilting, so that, heedless of her worn-out shoes, Frigga must pull her husband out for a few more rounds, until finally they were both exhausted, and left the young people to their gambols.

And now Odin has gone up to bed, and Frigga will too, soon, though the festivities are not yet over. What a relief it will be to take off her tight court dress, what a pleasure to remove those shoes, which are worse than being barefoot. She touches the piled-up coils of her hair. Her husband will take it down for her when she gets upstairs, brushing it out with slow, gentle strokes, as he has done so many evenings before.

"Loki!" Frigga is walking past the door to the small dining room, when she hears her daughter in-law's name being spoken. She is not out of earshot yet, when she hears it again: "Loki?"

That was not Thor's voice that spoke. Were it anyone else, no surprise there. Everyone at Hlidskjakf speaks to everyone else, all the time, but not Loki. She keeps herself to herself, more and more, the longer she is here, until finally it seems she is a silent shadow, coming awake only when Thor addresses her, and then afterward, returning to invisibility. Who speaks to her now?

The Queen of Asgard is not one to trespass upon the privacy of anyone at the palace, and yet… Relations between her son and his wife have been so troubled, and in her heart, she wants nothing but the best for both of them. What is Loki doing, finally away from Thor's side, and does it have a chance to harm, or hurt their relationship? Frigga steals back to the door, and peeps into the room.

The figure clad in red-and-gold belongs to the merchant who was knighted tonight, Sir Anthony Stark. His back is to Frigga, as he speaks to Loki. Both her hands are clasped in his. "I had not believed it was you…" Frigga bites her lip. Is she intruding on a lovers' tryst?

Staying will only make it worse. The Queen ascends to her bedchamber with a troubled heart. Well she knows the pain that Thor's infidelities caused his wife. Is Loki now venturing on a course that will cause similar pain to him? What of their marriage vows? What of the child Loki must still bear, to be heir to the Throne of Asgard?

Frigga tells her husband nothing of what she saw on her way up to bed. There is nothing there to tell, not yet. The sight of the two people holding hands, and a scrap of conversation, half-heard, could mean so many things. Best not to trouble Odin, for now.

* * *

" Sir Anthony Stark, Sir Anthony Stark, Sir Anthony Stark…" Peter had barely stopped chattering about the pomp of the state dinner. - "Cockatrice? What's that?" "Spiced meat." "And basilisk?" "More spiced meat." "And bilgesnape? That's not really bilgesnape?" - Now he's chattering about the knighthood, which does sound well, admittedly, and doesn't it mean Virginia is now a Lady?

Lady Virginia, that sounds well indeed. Tony must be sure and bring back plenty of fine gifts for the new Lady in his household. She must have jewels, and fine clothing, and what else? They are the thought s in Tony's head, pleasant thoughts indeed, and then he hears Loki's name mentioned.

No surprise that Loki would be here tonight, surely. And that Tony should not have seen him? Understandable. As a friend of Thor's, he would have been seated at the upper table. And that… This was when he saw Loki. All further thought went out of his head. This was Loki? This woman? Memories, unconsidered until now, scraps of information that had had no context before: Thor's wife is Jotnar; Jotunheim, the land of the Frost Giants; Thor's wife is a giant. Giants are magical beings. They can change their form at-will. Loki, a giant, who wore the form of a man, just the day before, now wears the form of a Princess, wife to the next King of Asgard.

Not for anything, would Tony endanger his friend… And more than a friend… But he said he was plighted to another, didn't he? This was why Loki was so upset when he saw Tony in the ale-tent. This explains what he risks, if he is perceived to be unfaithful. Tony spends most of the evening, explicitly avoiding Loki's company. There she goes, tripping the steps of a gavotte, with her husband's friend Fandral. Those are her feet, high aloft, during the hautdance. The dancing is winding down now, and he notices, as she leaves the room. He cannot help but follow.

"Loki…" How to describe the difference and the magnificence of the figure before him? His young man, so casual and unassuming, has changed into this!

Loki's response comes irritably: "Stark?" He has taken her by surprise.

He should say a simple good-evening, and then leave, he should let Loki go back to her husband, and yet, the words tumble out, unbidden. "Now I understand why you would have none of me before," Tony says to her. "You are… How could you possibly have explained ...this?"

So many words, so much more than he should have said. "I'll not endanger you, Loki, I know your responsibilities, as the wife of All-Father's son…" Somehow, he has taken her hands, belying his words. But he cannot help it. "You are beautiful like this, so beautiful," he tells her. "But Loki, you were so beautiful the other way too."

"I am still the other Loki." The words come slowly, as if unwillingly spoken. "I am both Lokis, yours, and…"

"Mine?" Anyone might walk in, at any time, but… They shouldn't be speaking these words, regardless. Even if no one hears them, these are dangerous words.

"Don't be a fool, Stark." Loki moves to turn away.

What nonsense is it to think that Tony's life will be changed in any way, by hearing words of love, spoken by someone who is married to another? And yet, it will be. He turns Loki, his hands, on her bejeweled elbows, his eyes, looking up into hers. "You said you are mine… Some part of you."

"Oh, Stark, of course I'm yours." Loki's voice is rising, now, shrill, as if with pain. "How can you be so hesitant, so doubtful?"

They have to end this now. They must leave this room, before anyone else can come in, and find them together. " You know, I'm going to think about your words." Tony speaks nothing but the truth, but he makes his voice casual, and he lets go of Loki's hands. "After I'm gone, I'll remember them."

"Are those all the memories you want? Just a couple kisses? Just a few words?" They aren't. Who could ever think that they were? Loki seizes both Tony's hands, gripping them tightly, speaking words that are rough, uneven, sounding bitten-off. "You can't say good-bye like this, me telling you that part of me is yours… Will always be yours…" Tears sparkle in her green eyes. As Tony watches, one makes a slow streak down her face.

"Come." His arm, around her face. The tenderness, that came into him, when he saw that tear… The unspeakable tenderness… "Where is safe?" He looks around. "Where can we be undisturbed?"

A storage room is a shameful place for a tryst. Brooms, and buckets, and empty sacks, and the noisome smell of vegetable peelings, and slop-water. The soft buzz of flies, but, aside from that, pure silence. "Loki, stop crying." Tony pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping her face as gently as he would a child's. "No tears, we knew we would have to say good-bye."

"We should never have seen each other, if it had to be just this." She draws a shuddering sob.

Loki should not be crying. She should not be unhappy because of a man who always knew he was not going to be able to stay. She should be out, dancing gavottes and pavanes with her husband. She should be laughing with him. Thor is a good fellow, withall. "Please." Tony brushes away one more tear that has started. "Please, Loki…"

"Once, Stark." Loki's voice is still rough from crying, but it has a new, fierce energy. She turns, gripping his shoulders, looking at him, an angry light in her eyes. "We will be once together, I will have that at least."

It will be his undoing. Tony looks at the long corridor of years still ahead of him, he thinks about when he is with Virginia, when he is playing with the children they are still to have, when he is at-sea… His heart will break, it will surely be torn out of him, and shredded, bit-by-bit, as the years pass. And Loki will be here, unapproachable, wearing the Crown of Asgard. But, when he has this opportunity… How can he turn away?

* * *

It would not matter to his passions, were Loki man or woman, but the male form is wiser. Men cannot conceive children. "Shameful, if I brought a bastard to my husband, and besides…" How quickly Loki sheds the cumbersome court dress she wears. Bodice, and farthingale, and articles Tony has no name for, fall to the ground as in a shower, until she stands before him, clad only in a shift.

..Until he stands before him. "Loki!" Tony realizes he has never seen him before, in so little clothing. The outline of his body is distinct, through the fine linen he wears, but Tony would see it completely unclothed. "May I?" He touches the hem.

"Why do you take so long?" Pushing Tony's hands away, Loki slips the shift from his body.

Tony gasps. Loki is perfect. He thinks about a little statue he once saw: Bronze, cast in the figure of the boy David, standing, with one knee bent, a sword, loosely clasped, in one hand. That body was so slim, so graceful. Loki's is better. And, it is Loki's. It would be beautiful no matter what it looked like.

"Stark, kiss me. Stark, touch me." Loki pulls Tony's face close, kissing him with greedy mouth.

"Tony pulls away. "I'm still fully dressed."

"Yes, but I'm not."

"I would do this properly." He undoes the fastenings of his own court attire. His fingers are unsteady, and it is difficult to make progress, but if he can have only this one time with Loki, how can he settle for the quick, rough penetration one takes with wharf-side prostitutes? Slowly, the clothes fall to cover Loki's: Doublet, breeches, garters and hose, and court shoes. Finally, he stands before Loki, naked.

For a moment, all there is is silence, and neither of them approaches the other. "I'm not much to look at, am I?" Tony speaks only to break the silence. "I'm short, and I have all these scars…"

"Stark, will you stop talking?" Loki pulls him down on top of the piled-up sacks. Rough burlap, against their bare skins, a few moist places, no good reason why they should be damp. "You always do this," Loki says, between kisses, "you always talk so much."

Tony's hands run over the smooth ivory of Loki's body. Curve of his muscles, with the long lines of his bones, beneath. Faint, smooth feel of sweat, as they gradually warm each other. Everyplace must be touched, and, with touching, comes the longing to kiss. Kissing muscled shoulders, kissing a smooth chest. Kissing Loki's pink nipples, first licking, then kissing, then licking again, until they stand up, pert and eager. Tongue tracing lower, the tiny taste of salt, and what feels like the darker, deeper taste of Loki himself, beneath it. The taste of a giant. His giant, or his in part. "My Loki," he finds himself muttering.

"Yes, Tony, yours." For his part, Loki's hands are everywhere, tracing Tony's scars, and the rough places on his body. As Tony moves lower, kissing first Loki's chest, then his stomach, and the line of hair that leads to his manhood, Loki buries both hands in his hair, and keeps them there. He brings his legs up, knees sharply bent, making all of himself available.

His body is a treasure. His manhood, fully erect, must be tasted… It throbs in Tony's mouth. It must be satisfied, and he satisfies it. They say real men don't satisfy other men this way, but why not? What, save convention alone, stops them? Loki deserves to be satisfied this way, and whatever that may say about Tony, it matters not. He takes him deep, sucking with irresistible pressure, knowing what outcome he wants. Loki comes, in sharp, hard bursts, and he swallows it, then moves to prepare his back opening, for his own satisfaction.

Finally, after it is all done, they lie together on the dirty sacks, exhausted, and yet, withall, so happy. "I hate your wife." Loki's head is snuggled under Tony's chin, her voice is lazy.

His own hand can't resist playing with Loki's long dark hair. "You don't," he murmurs, "you don't even know her."

"I know you are hers, and I hate her. - I hate Thor too."

Tony hates himself. He knew this would end in heartbreak, and he allowed it to happen. "Do you want everything, my foolish love? The Crown, and the alliance between the realms, and me also?"

"I want you." Lazy kisses, and greedy words alternate. "You're mine, I would keep you as a treasure. I will lock you away in my jewelry-box, and you shall not escape."

"Someday, you will be crowned Queen of Asgard." Tony, too, gives two kisses, for every word he speaks. "I will return, and I will watch. You will not even know that I am there."

Loki hears the footstep outside the door. Tony knows nothing of it, until he sees her start, and both turn, to see who has caught them in their guilt.

"I wanted a snack." Volstagg, of course. Volstagg has caught them.


	6. Friendship's Feigning, Loving Mere Folly

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe**  
**Characters: Loki, Tony, Volstagg, Odin, Frigga, Thor** **  
****Author's note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

It is said a true lover should be willing to pay anything for his love. Tony is no true lover. Though his heart aches with pain for Loki, as he is dragged ahead of him, up the stairs, clad only in his linen shift, Tony's mind is occupied with his wife, and his company.

Lesè-majesté is the crime of dishonoring the Crown. This is the crime Tony committed, when he lay with Thor's wife. The crime is punishable by death, and worse than death, for, if convicted one must forfeit all of one's estate to the King. Virginia would have nothing, Jim, Peter, and so many other brave men, would be left without their means of livelihood. Has Tony brought this harm, upon so many whom he loves, through one careless act?

Ahead of him, Volstagg's steps are so quick that Loki's feet seem barely to touch the stairboards. He is being half pulled, half dragged along. "You will pay, for once you will pay," the stout warrior grates his anger. "Treacherous, malicious… giant."

"Do your worst." Loki's words of defiance come breathless, and Tony is reminded that he too, must pay for Tony's choice to lay with him. "Kill me, if you would. Tell me, Volstagg, are you even sure you can kill a giant?"

Soon they are in Odin's presence. Thor, fortunately, has not been summoned. The King's red robe trimmed with fur, and his shirt visible at the throat, indicate that he has come from his bedchamber The Queen, arriving short after, has her hair down, a robe of golden-yellow covering her own night-clothes.

"You would transgress upon my hospitality so, Sir Anthony?" Odin's voice sounds more sad and tired, than angry. "What penalty should I give, do you think?"

Tony kneels before his Sovereign, his head bowed. He takes his time with his answer, not to appear to forward, but it is clear in his mind what he must say. "I know what punishment I should receive for my crime against you, my Lord. I ask instead to be allowed to undergo the trial of peine forte et dure, that my wife should not also have to suffer for what I have done."

Peine forte et dure: Torture. A man is put in solitary imprisonment, with no food, no water, until preparations have been made for the rest of the trial. With a board placed upon his body, he must remain silent, as more and more stones are set thereon. If he opens his mouth and makes any plea for the crime of which he is accused, the trial is ended. Can Tony endure this torture? He must, for if he but stays silent unto death, his estate will be protected. Virginia will have control of Stark Mercantile Company. She is as intelligent as any man, and will do well, and does Jim not now have commission to lead his own convoy of ships, and keep the business profitable?

Thoughts go through the mind so quickly, during times of great emotion. There seems no breath, between Tony's words and Odin's, and yet he has had time to lay his entire plan out in his mind. Then, All-Father speaks: "You would choose torture for yourself?" Again, there is no anger in All-Father's voice, but rather, a note of something like regret. He turns to Loki. "And you, my daughter, what have you to say for yourself?"

"Am I your daughter?" Loki's form flickers, for a moment woman, then man, and then woman again. "How many roles am I to play for Asgard, All-Father? First I was woman, to seal an alliance, then man, that at your son's behest. Now am I to be woman again, that you may scold me? Give me my punishment, but stop telling me who I must be."

Frigga is seated next to Odin, on two chairs that have been pulled hastily into place. Tony sees her lips move. Her voice is soft, but audible. "Loki," she murmurs.

For her part, Loki throws her a look, tossing her head. "Fortunate, isn't it, All-Father, that Laufey is willing to accept an alliance based on my sham of a marriage to your son?"

"It is no sham!"

Loki does no acknowledge the interruption. "I would not be so gracious in his place," she says, "but would make Asgard work for a change. Let Thor give something up for once, why should it always be…" Her voice trembles; suddenly, she stops.

Contrary impulses can share company in a man's mind. Tony feels at once a great protectiveness, for his wife and the men who work for him, and a still greater anger toward Thor, because he has made Loki cry. It makes no sense. Loki is another's wife, and he has no claim on her. Further, he is the one who has brought her to this place. Were it not for him, she'd not be standing, half-clad and tearful, before All-Father. By rights, he should be angry at himself, but no. Tony is angry at Thor.

"This is the one time that Tony and I were together." Loki's voice is steady again. "And I placed your throne at no risk, for I went to him in a man's form, not in a woman's. If you are upset? Dissolve the marriage. Do you think I care in the slightest?"

Queen Frigga speaks before her husband. "Nobody wants to dissolve anything, Loki."

Odin, for his part, has turned to her. "Why must I be surrounded by hot-headed children? They would throw away everything I have worked for." Then when he turns back, it is as if he cannot face the problem of his son and daughter in-law. He turns instead to Tony. "You are right, my son, you do indeed deserve death, but your service to Asgard is necessary. I have none other to perform it."

"Jim Rhodes." Honesty compels Tony to say the name of his second-in-command, who is at least his equal as a ship's captain.

"He has not your experience." Odin's voice is very, very tired. "And he doesn't own the company. I would not have loyalties divided between him and your wife, after your death." He lifts his hand, touching Tony on the shoulder. "You may rise, Sir Anthony. Let your shame be your punishment, and may it spur you to greater acts of heroism, in service of my Midgardian colonists."

It is an act of mercy undeserved, incomprehensible, almost. For a moment, Tony cannot speak, cannot even think. Then, when his mind clears, the thought of Loki is there. He glances at her for a moment, before turning to his Sovereign. "And what of…"

"Enough!" Odin gestures to the door. "Quit my presence, Stark, before I repent of of the mercy I have shown you."

The harsh words are deserved, far more than the gentler ones, spoken earlier. Tony feels the full weight of his shame, as he leaves the room. For a few moments' caresses, he has placed at-risk his wife, his company, and his country's future. Now he can only atone for his sins.

* * *

No one summons Thor at first. This is well, for that turbulent princeling would surely cause only more problems. When he is called into the room, he surpasses Loki's expectations. "My wife? My wife?" He repeats the words, as though mere repetition will surely change the entire world in his favor.

Volstagg, who was silent before, now turns into the village scold. "I found her," he brags, the smug bag of wind. "I found her, in flagrante delicto."

"You found him." Is it any wonder that Odin grows tired? These family quarrels are foolish and repetitive. One must continue, for the stakes are high, but oh, how much happier, were it not necessary! "What is it Thor always told me? That his infidelities did not matter, as he could not bear children?"

Loki must defend herself, or himself, or both… Loki must defend Loki, for if she does not, who will? Why is everyone else allowed to be who they are, but not she? Nonetheless, she understands, when Frigga hustles her husband and her from the room (Volstagg following, of course). If she is tired, just from this one conflict, think of Odin, who has also the weight of the entire realm, upon his shoulders.

In Loki's bedchamber, the quarrel becomes hotter. Loki would not have her husband there, she would keep him out, secure peace for herself, at least long enough for her to wrap her mind around all that has taken place. Every moment that she does not defend herself, though, is one more moment for Thor to form judgments without her. Who will have his ear, then? Who else but Volstagg? And then his judgment will become Thor's, unshakably, and after that no change will be possible. Better to at least speak for oneself.

The pretty chamber was decorated by Frigga, in the delicate, Vanir manner. It has never felt fully like home to Loki. Her heritage, by birth first, and then by her marriage into the warlike Aesir, is rougher. But it is a lovely place. It is what her home would be like, if she could choose it. This bedchamber has seen quarrels before, many of them, since Loki's marriage to Thor. They always seem like a desecration, and this one no less so than the others.

Thor follows his wife into the room. "You made a pretty scene downstairs, didn't you?"

"It was ill-planned." Loki conceals the turbulent emotions that riot in her breast, showing only a cool, ironic mien. Her steps measured, she crosses the room, takes a seat at her dressing table. She does not allow herself to think about the kisses she traded with Thor, right here, just hours before, but instead, speaks to give insult. "Had I taken time to think, I'd have invited you and Sif to join us. Think of the fun."

" Fun ?" Thor's face is red. His big hands clasp and unclasp, reflexively. He would fight something if he could. Loki feels no fear, though; her husband has never raised a hand to her.

Instead, he takes his rage out on her belongings. Delicate ivory combs fly across the room, followed by the mirror, silver framed in gold, that was Frigga's gift to Loki on her arrival in Asgard. Loki's gloves, her shoes, the pots of paint and perfume that litter the table, follow next. Then Thor grabs her jewelry box, and throws it at the opposite wall.

Beads and baubles fly everywhere. There go the strings of pearls, that belonged to King Bor's wife, Thor's grandmother. There go sapphires, brought from Vanaheim, and the topazes that Frigga once told Loki she preferred above all other jewels, because of their color. There finally, with a little tinkle, falls the brooch Tony gave Loki yesterday, at the fair. Thor notices it, of course. It is the only piece in the box that is not part of Asgard's treasures.

"What is that?" He stomps toward it. His feet are big and loud.

"What do you think? It's a gift." Loki's impulse is to beg her husband's mercy. Tony is to leave soon, never, perhaps, to return to Asgard. Can she not at least have this one small token to remember him? But Loki has never begged. Certainly, she has never begged her husband. "One of my paramours gave it to me," she says instead, her tone cutting. "Surely you have given gifts enough to your mistresses, to understand that?"

"Your paramours ? Don't be ridiculous, you've had just one." Thor takes the little trinket off the floor. He holds it in his hand. His hand is huge, the bauble's tinny sparkle barely visible, above his big fingers. "Stark gave this to you, did he?" he says. "Father should have had him executed."

"All-Father is smarter than you. Always." For the life of her, Loki cannot draw her eyes from the brooch in her husband's hand. Her words are all the more cutting, to compensate. "You would have him kill the ablest defender of our Midgardian colonies?"

There go Thor's fingers, closing, cutting off view of the brooch. "Not your colonies," he says. "You're Jotun, not Asgardian."

"I am Asgardian by marriage." In spite of herself, Loki cannot hold back one plea. "Give me back the brooch, Thor. Tony is leaving, can I not have this one token?"

"Who knows, perhaps you have a child growing in you. Thor's words are cutting, his voice, for once, as sarcastic as Loki's own. His hand remains closed, hiding the brooch from view. "Would that not be token enough? "This is mine. I shall do with it as I please."

Crossing the room, he opens the shutters, which have been closed against the night's miasmas. Loki watches as Thor raises one muscled arm, throwing Tony's little gift far out into the darkness. In spite of herself, she cannot repress one single cry, as she sees it go. After that, the anger floods her anew.

"You worthless, puling excuse for a Prince." This is what anger feels like, and it is justified. All the turbulence of her giantish race is there for her, now, when she needs it. Loki hears her own voice: It is gruff, like a giant's voice, which is as it should be. "You take your own pleasure wherever, and whenever you would. You keep me penned up, no freedom, no chance even to learn what I desire for myself. My one night with Stark will have no effect on you, you clot-headed idiot. Did I not say I lay with him as a man? Your precious line will not be sullied by common blood. Though that would only improve it, methinks," she adds, in nasty afterthought.

One thought in Loki's mind, now that she has spoken her piece: She would go out into the night right away, to find Stark's gift, lest it be trodden into the dirt, upon the morn. As she turns to go, Thor grabs her by the wrist. "Are you going to lay with him again?"

"Who knows? Perhaps I am." Loki knows full-well how nasty she sounds, but it is deserved, fully. Why should she always have to be submissive and silent? "It would be nice to have one night more, with someone who satisfies me."

"You are no wife!" Thor's voice, following her through the door and down the hall. "You are no woman at all, but a monster. - A giant!" His final words are half-heard only; she is on the first landing of the stairs when she hears them. Afterward, Loki is not sure whether she heard him aright. This is what it sounded like, though: "I would not sully the line of Asgard with your giantish taint."

Whether the words were heard aright, the spirit behind them is true, is it not? Thor will never grant Loki full acceptance. To him, she will always be a giant, almost a monster. And is this to be her fate, then? Will she be shackled for the rest of her life, to one who views her so?


	7. I am Ashamed That Women are so Simple

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe**  
**Characters: Loki, Thor, Odin, Frigga, Morgan Stark** **  
****Author's note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

For the next few weeks as he prepares to return to Midgard, Tony walks around feeling like he must speak or he will burst. He does not speak though, not to anyone. What is there that he could say, and, to whom, and how would he say it? He writes long letters to his wife instead: "My darling Virginia, how I miss you… My wife, my love, you complete me." They relieve some of the pressure inside him, but they are dishonest. Those are not the emotions that burn so, within him. Tony burns the letters, instead of saving them for his wife.

Virginia has always seemed like a rock, to him. She is stable and organized, where he can be swayed by whims, and passing ideas. How he longs for her stabilizing influence now! He walks through his days, and at times he'll find himself picturing her: It is 7:00 AM, what is his wife doing now? She is speaking to Jarvis, probably. "For dinner today? Ham, I think, and salad. Is Cook baking today? Some wheaten bread would go well as an accompaniment." It is 11:00 AM, perhaps she is inspecting the preparations their servant Happy has made for winter. "How much firewood? That's not enough, we'll need at least twice that." It is 3:00 in the afternoon, she is taking tea with some of the neighboring town-dwellers, it is 6:00, she is eating another solitary dinner, awaiting his return...

Virginia : He does not deserve her. And yet he thinks of her.

Jim would understand if Tony spoke to him. But he would make a jest of it, wouldn't he? "You cuckolded All-Father's son? Oh Tony, Tony, if anyone would!" Cuckold : Is that what he did? It is an ugly word. Peter would be surprised and confused. "Lesè-majesté, Tony? But what about the company?" Harder, even than hearing Jim joke about what is so painfully serious, would it be to look into his younger companion's eyes, and see the shock that would be there.

Tony finds that if he works hard enough, he can almost sleep soundly at night. Certainly there is plenty to be done to prepare for their return to Midgard. Goods must be purchased. Fine fabrics, and items of great beauty begin to fill the hold of the Mark IV. The holds of the other two ships are stocked with the small luxuries of the lesser sorts: Tea, and fortified wines, sugar, and brandy. There must be food and water, sufficient for the journey: A pig for each ship, turnips and mangels, hardtack and salt meat to be eaten as a last resort after they have finished their fresh food.

"Tony?" They are in a draper's shop. Bolts of damask, and brocade, and a thousand other fabrics Tony has no name for, line the walls. On the counter in front of them, various pieces of lace from Vanaheim. Peter has just chosen a small collar, a gift for a girl he loves, back in Midgard, who Jim and Tony know only as "Lizzie." Tony is now supposed to be choosing other pieces, to sell when they return home. He must have been distracted. It is only when Peter says his name, that he realizes he has been staring at the dainty scraps, as though he did not see them.

"Tony?" Peter says again. "Are you alright?"

"My mind was elsewhere, I'm afraid." Tony gestures at the lace. "We'll take all of it." The price is tremendous, but what of it? It will sell; no one does work like this in the colonies. He completes their order quickly, purchasing fine fabrics with equal lavishness. Money? What is money? These things will sell. And if they do not, enough else of their cargo will, and their profit will be ensured. There still remains to choose gifts for his wife. It will have to be done later; Tony would not choose anything for Virginia, while his mind is so distracted.

Jim has been at the woolen shop, a few doors down. He looks at Tony, when they meet in the tap-room at the inn, after their purchasing is complete. Good friend that he is, he frowns his concern, even though it is Tony's own foolishness, which has led to his unhappiness. He says nothing, though, and the fact of what Tony did lies like a weight between them.

Tony has seen Loki a few times, since the night state dinner. He still wears the form of a young man, much of the time. Tony will see him going about with his husband and his friends. Horses race through the streets, their hooves striking sparks from the cobblestones: There is Thor at the head, his three warrior friends and Sif, following, and Loki, never very close to them, but always there. Tony will venture sometimes into an alehouse, and they will be there, drinking deep, and jesting. Is Loki quieter than he was before? Is he more serious? Hard to say, he was always very quiet, and very serious.

Tony sees the Princess too sometimes, after his disgrace. Odin still invites him to some state events, not for his own sake, but because, as a privateer, he is a useful reminder to the men of Svartalfheim that Asgard defends its colonies. Tony will see Loki, as Princess. She is cool and remote, and so, so beautiful.

Only once do they speak, at a celebration held to honor the Svart delegation, on the eve of their departure. Again, there is feasting, Tony and his friends now earning a spot at the top table, where the Svart will be sure to see them. Again the food, and Peter's curious comments, again the dancing afterward.

Tony would not for words have shamed Loki, by asking her to dance with him, but the dance is a reel, inevitably it comes time for her to be his partner. Hurried words, spoken in an undertone, over the lilt of the music: "It was my fault, Loki… What happened: I never meant to hurt you."

"Do not trouble yourself, Stark."

"I still have your token."

Loki gives him one secret smile. "And I have yours."

Is it forgiveness? Is it understanding, perhaps, that he could not have done other than he did? Who knows what it was? Women are hard enough to understand, and Loki, this dual-natured being whom Tony loves, is at least doubly difficult. The words were warm, though, at any rate, and Loki's smile was tender. It is enough to send Tony away from the night's festivities, with his heart at least a little bit lighter.

And afterward, the preparations for his own departure continue apace. Gifts for Jim's wife, and for Peter's "Lizzie," gifts for Virginia. Gift, upon gift, upon gift, for Virginia. Gifts to beg for the forgiveness he cannot seek in words, gifts to tell her how much he has missed her calm, stable company. Gifts to say what Tony wants to say: "Virginia, I know I don't deserve you, but I love you so much, and I need you."

Her blue eyes will light up, when she sees what he has brought her. Those soft lips of hers will turn up in spite of themselves. "Oh Tony," she'll say, "you shouldn't have spent so much!"

"You deserve it, and more," he'll say, and she'll give him that look of hers, half fond and half irritated.

* * *

Tony's brooch was in a mud puddle, when Loki found it. She took it home and cleaned it as best she could. At once, the brass started to tarnish, and the glass gem lost what little sparkle it ever had. It still has its special place in her jewelry box, though, nestled, beneath the weight of her royal jewels. The green the brass now wears is almost the color of the green velvet it lies against. It is far greener then the little glass jewel is anymore, certainly. No matter; Tony has left a better token as well.

Does anyone really know if a Jotun can conceive while in male form? Has anyone ever cared enough to make sure? If Laufey had been a proper father, he'd have told Loki, instead of shoving him into Thor's arms, with orders that amounted only to, "Be a Princess."

Be a Princess all the time, be the wife I need to secure this alliance. Be a wife to All-Father's heir, and give him children. You are my son, Loki, it is your duty to obey me.

Loki is giving Thor a woods-colt, instead of a child of his own. This she is sure of, deep in her heart, with an assurance that has nothing whatsoever to do with the facts of the case. Certainly the babe might be her husband's. She lay with him the day of the state dinner, as well as with Tony. It is Tony's, though, because it should be, it must be. When the time comes for her confinement, she will look down and see brown eyes like his, looking up at her, worn by the babe in her arms. Will Thor say to her, "The child is not mine, look, the eyes are wrong, and the coloring"? Pfft, all babes look alike. Loki has dark hair herself, anyhow, and what are a pair of brown eyes?

The weeks go by. Loki's jerkin buttons cannot be closed any longer, when she assumes male form again, probably for the last time before the child is born. She would watch Tony's ships leave for Midgard.

Thor's worried voice: "Are you sure you should go out, Wife? And like that?"

Loki is dressed like a commoner, loose jerkin of green wool, over breeches in a darker shade. Heavy shoes for walking in, and a hat pulled low, to disguise a face that might be recognized. "You have taught me to enjoy a man's freedoms again, Husband." His voice is gentle, for he has no anger toward Thor, not anymore. "You cannot expect me to accept confinement now, when the child has not yet even quickened."

Three ships, graceful, in the harbor. Tony's galleon, the Mark IV, and the two smaller ships. Loki watches from the docks, as they weigh anchor. He hears the faint shouts, of the ships' crews at work. Around him, is plenty of other company. It is not every day that a privateer singled out for knighthood by All-Father himself, leaves Asgard.

"They're brave, them privateers." A commoner addresses Loki as an equal.

"Very brave." Why do tears film his eyes, as he watches Tony's departure?

"D'you think they'll make it? The seas are rough this time of year, I hears."

"They'll make it." They will, Loki silently tells the babe in his/ her belly. Your father will live to see you one day, my child.

* * *

It is a relief for Frigga to see her daughter in-law's ways beginning to quiet, as her pregnancy increases. Where before, she was all shouting and turbulence, now she seems like any woman. Her pastimes are those of the other ladies at court, embroidery, and the writing of poetry, and practice with the virginal, that she has left alone, since Thor demanded she be his male companion. She comes to Frigga, as any young mother would, to an older woman: "What spells will ease my labor, Mother? What can I do, to ensure that the child be healthy?"

When time comes for the lying-in, it is a quick labor, so quick that some of the women comment upon it. "She just dropped it! Like a cat, she was. Is that the way of the Jotnar?"

"Monsterish, a giant's delivery…" Frigga does her best to hide these whispers from Loki, but surely she must hear some of them. Why do people have to say such things? Why must someone's innate qualities always be perceived as faults?

The babe is a beautiful little girl, perfect, in every respect. Thor proves to be a fond father, so fond that some of the women comment upon that as well. Frigga is not surprised, though having seen Odin behave the same way, after his son was born.

Once, twice, a hundred times, it seems, within an hour, Thor must take the baby from its place at Loki's breast. And he must unwrap it from its swaddling, examine it again, admiring every detail. "Look at the little toes… Oh, and the tiny fingernails! Loki, see?"

"Of course I see." Loki's tired voice.

"Such perfect little fingernails. And Loki, so much brown hair!"

"Like my hair." Loki's arms are reaching for her babe, but Thor takes the time to swaddle it again, his hands clumsier than a woman's but capable enough withall, before returning it again.

"And the blue eyes," he says. "They are my eyes."

"Thor, all babies have blue eyes."

There is only one problem with the babe, and that, so Loki says, will be resolved in due time. As a girl, it cannot, of course, inherit the throne of Asgard. "The babe is half-Jotun," Loki says. "It will share my dual nature; Asgard will have its heir."

"But when, Loki, when?" demands Thor, ever impatient.

"I know not, for I do not remember when I first became aware of my powers. A year," Loki says, "perhaps a little more. Be patient for once in your life, Husband. Not everything comes at once."

"I will try." Thor's voice is fond. "For your sake, and for our child's."

The babe is beautiful at Loki's breast, its dark head pressed close, mouth greedily sucking nourishment. Morgan, it is to be called. "Like morning," Loki says. "A golden, Asgardian morning, since it does not have my husband's golden hair."

"It is beautiful as it is, Loki," Thor tells her. And Frigga tells her the same thing, and Odin, and all of the court, for Morgan is indeed a child much beloved.


End file.
